A real church

I still vividly recall my first visit to Sacred Heart with Aunt Rachel, mom’s youngest sister.  I was about four or five and so totally awed by the grandness of the church— wood floors, very high ceilings, enormous stained-glass windows— that I was too captivated to make a peep.  Sacred Heart Church was the most beautiful place I’d ever seen!

Segy’s tuba

Decades later, when Segy and I were parishioners, we met some of the nicest folks at Sacred Heart.

Segy was in the high school band program then so, all on his own, he decided to bring his tuba along to accompany the organist, who looked more than surprised— most likely tiffed— that he’d dared to do the unthinkable.  I mean, c’mon.  A tuba?!! she must’ve thought.  But Segy was not to be dissuaded.

Sometimes Mrs. Merta, a teacher friend we’d met at the elementary school where I’d taught and Segy had attended, would substitute.  Her husband was a well-known band director who loved the tuba, so Mrs. Merta was always complimentary of Segy and even rewarded him with a well deserved token of her esteem.  “Let him keep it.  He earned it,” she’d insist with a smile.

It was a very special time for me, too.  I was part of the choir even though I’d never thought I had a good singing voice.  And everyone in the group was so very, very nice.  A wonderful experience all the way around!

Lots of memories

As Steven opened the door for me to enter Sacred Heart a couple of weekends ago, the greeter wasn’t the Irish gentleman who’d always twinkled at Segy and me when we arrived for eleven-thirty Mass Sunday morning.

John O’Leary was always glad to see us. He’d get really close as he handed me the church bulletin and tell me a quick story or two about his beloved Chicago.  His take on the great fire of 1871 was a hoot.  Then again he always got a charge out of making me laugh; and he was a spiffy dresser, too.  John was the leprechaun’s pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, a real gentleman.

Although I didn’t recognize the greeter this time, the first person I noticed talking to someone in the very last pew was the organist whom I’d always thought was a nun.  She wouldn’t have remembered me, so I kept walking to the seventh center pew, outside right— the one that Segy and I had occupied until we joined the choir.

Sitting there, I recognized two others.  A white-haired woman with a sweet smile sitting in her usual spot— left center aisle seat, third pew— whose sister mom had known through the altar society at Christ the King.  And a tall man— the lector with the same robust voice as before— who sat on the extreme left near the aisle seat, first pew, in front of the pulpit.

None of the other regulars were there but, looking around, I readily envisioned them in their respective places.  I hadn’t known them all by name, yet I easily remembered their heartfelt smiles and their lighthearted conversations.  No matter that most of them had been much older than the rest of us, they welcomed all who celebrated Mass in their beloved Sacred Heart.

Lots of delectable recollections gushed forth as I savored my time in church.  Lingering about after Mass.  Talking with various folks.  Charles and his sister, whose parents always helped with counting money and other responsibilities.  Vicki and Tom, newlyweds in their much later years.  Evening choir rehearsals for Christmas and Easter Masses.  Frs. Moran, Sheehan, and Lanese.  Judge Garza, whom President Kennedy had appointed to the U.S. district court, and his family who shared space with the rest of us off and on during the year.  The visiting priest from Port Isabel who, in his infinite wisdom, compared the soul to a multifaceted crystal vase in his unforgettable homily.  So many excellent memories!

Same as always

I was beyond glad to be back at Sacred Heart after so many years— too many, really— that I wondered what’d kept me away after Segy left for Wabash.  Tears filled my eyes.  Don’t do it.  Don’t cry.  You won’t be able to stop, I told myself.  I felt Segy so strongly that persistent tears streamed down my face even after wiping at them again and again.  I’d been gone more than twelve years, and yet I’d never left.  Funny, too, how Steven had taken Segy’s (Steven’s) place beside me at the very same pew we’d occupied so many years before.

A real church

In the midst of all these memories and emotions I’d been listening to Fr. Joe’s homily.

“This is a real church,” Father said before repeating for emphasis.  “This— is a real church.”

Yes, I smiled to myself.  This is what I’ve been telling Steven all along.  Not all churches are real, but I know real.  So, maybe now having heard it from someone else who knows, he’ll believe me.

And whomever has said— me included— that one can’t ever go back isn’t altogether correct.  Sacred Heart is as it’s always been: beautiful, peaceful, embracing.  Real.

       

       

       

           

       

       

       

       

       

       

April 20, 2015

In a spirit of openheartedness, we need to listen to the unexpected and to embrace the new and different in the passage of scripture that we are pondering.

As I am reading the scriptures as if for the first time, help me, Spirit of God, to surrender to the unknown, letting your Word shape and form me into your likeness (Sr. Maria Tasto, OSB, 1938-2014).

June 15, 2015

There is a subtle difference between listening and reflecting.  So often we do not listen as deeply as we could.  We tend to rush right into reflective thoughts and miss the real point of the conversation.

Gently remind me, O God, to listen deeply to what you are communicating. Give me the patience to hang out with the reading, letting it take me to a deeper level within myself.  Help me to savor the word or phrase that catches my attention, hearing WHAT is being said (Sr. Maria Tasto).

Links of interest…  Catholic diocese of Brownsville TX…  Great Chicago fire…  Immaculate Conception Cathedral (ICC)…  Judge Reynaldo Garza: biography (YT)…  Sacred Heart Church (centennial – landmark)…

WP posts…  Angels keeping watch…  Backtracking…  Beautiful sacred space…  Heart of hearts…  Home again…  Right at home…  Seven dwelling places…  Soulful